


Once a Warrior

by Snowy_the_Sane_Fangirl



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_the_Sane_Fangirl/pseuds/Snowy_the_Sane_Fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does former Abbey warrior Martin react when an old enemy appears on the path in front of the Abbey?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once a Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: How does former Abbey warrior Martin react when an old enemy appears on the path in front of the Abbey?
> 
> Disclaimer: Redwall and its associated characters, places, and events do not belong to me.
> 
> Purpose: To explore one possible attitude Martin may have had towards his former occupation after laying down his sword.
> 
> Rating: PG, for lots of anger and stuff.
> 
> A/N: This is supposed to be an exploration of Martin’s mind through the action that occurs in the story, not an action story in and of itself. I felt that even though Martin became a mouse of peace, for him that meant something more along the lines of failing to invite conflict than refusing to involve himself in it, especially when he knew he was needed.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Cassie Cameron-Young!

"Martin!" The Mousethief's shout echoed in the still morning air.

"What?" came the somewhat disgruntled reply from the kitchens.

"There's a stoat on the path, and he's demanding to speak with you, matey."

"'Demanding?'"

"Rudely an' aggressively!"

"Well, tell him he can wait. I'm eating breakfast, and unless he's being polite I imagine I've better things to do than drop everything to talk to him!" The retired Warrior turned away from the open window and directed his attention back to the conversation he was having with Goody Stickle.

He only barely heard his friend's voice float back to him, a hint of confusion evident in it. "He says to tell you he doesn't have a sword, and he's referrin' to you as 'Martin, son of Luke the Warrior.'"

Martin stopped speaking mid-sentence. A deadly silence ensued as he weighed the possibilities in his head. The title or the reference to the sword by themselves could mean anything, but together?

"And the really strange thing about that," Gonff's voice continued, "is that he actually is carryin' a sword…"

There was a crash as the teacup the Warrior was holding fell to the floor and shattered. Goody saw an unearthly change come over his face as he morphed from content, peaceful Brother Martin to violent, dangerous, very angry swordsbeast Martin the Warrior. For a second, he just stood there, staring directly at the hedgehog wife's face, yet through it, as an old hatred and a numbed pain were dredged out of a forgotten past. He slowly turned toward the kitchen door, and then suddenly he was running – Martin the Warrior was running, leaving Brother Martin behind, standing by the kitchen window. The Mouse Warrior sped down a short passage into Great Hall, where he nearly bowled over Abbess Germaine. Murmuring apologies, he snatched his sword off the two hooks it hung on above the tapestry depicting him. It had been three seasons since he had touched the weapon, and it almost felt foreign to his paws, much as it had the day he had reclaimed it from a hated enemy.

Pausing barely a moment before the tapestry, he spun around, paws sliding on the smooth stones of the floor, and sprinted out of the hall. As he tore over the threshold and across the lawn, beasts looked up in surprise at their former warrior dashing across the lawn, sword in paw, as a cry born of hatred and wrath tore from his throat. "Badraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang!" He reached the wall stairs and bounded up them three at a time, appearing on the battlements above the gate. As he appeared on the wall, Gonff turned to him, about to speak, but stopped short as he saw the ice glinting in the warrior's eyes. Martin strode purposefully to the edge of the wall, confirming what he already knew with a single glance. Placing his left paw on the battlement, the warrior mouse tensed to hoist himself up, but Gonff grabbed his arm and hauled him backwards. Long experience with his friend had taught him to recognise the signs preceding such foolish action.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. Martin ignored him, all his attention focused on his ancient enemy below. The stoat's cruel laughter floated up to the pair.

"I see you still need your friends to prevent you from breaking your neck!" he shouted. Before Martin could reply, Abbess Germaine appeared behind him, calm and collected as if she had recently finished a peaceful afternoon tea. The morning sunlight haloed her head, giving the impression of some saint of old. She was silently digesting all that she was able to discern from what she had seen and heard.

"Martin, who is this?" she asked quietly, deeming it wise to upset the warrior no further.

"This is my problem, Abbess," Martin replied. Gonff, who had already seen the chill in his eyes, was not surprised to hear it in his voice as well. "Don't concern yourself with it." Breaking free from Gonff's grip, he started down the stairs, sword at the ready, striding purposefully toward the main gate.

"Skipper, Amber, please restrain Brother Martin," Germaine called to the nearest beasts. "I fear he has something rash planned."

Rather than actively restraining the warrior, the two chieftains chose to block his path and attempt to talk some reason into him. "Martin, matey, what's goin' on?" Skipper asked.

"Don't do something you'll regret," Lady Amber added. Martin pointedly ignored both of them, trying unsuccessfully to dodge around or between them.

"Get out of my way!" he snarled. Despite their superior size, both Skipper and Amber were taken aback by the expression of determined rage on his face. "Don't make me hurt you."

The two chieftains glanced at each other before slowly stepping apart. Martin stepped between them. Before he could move any further, however, they each grabbed an arm, holding the mouse warrior back as he abruptly began struggling. Suddenly, Gonff was in front of them. "Martin!" he shouted. "Martin!" Seeing that he was ignored, the mouse thief pulled back and punched his friend in the face. The shock of the blow calmed Martin long enough for his best friend to get a word in. "Are you tryin' to get yourself killed? If the way he was talkin' to you ain't clear, then the eight archers in the ditch you never let me tell you about should be! He means to murder you, whoever he is, and he'll succeed if you keep going on like this. You're playin' right into his paws, matey!"

Martin seemed to understand, and put enough effort toward calming himself that his friends deemed it safe to release him before too long. The warrior remained where he was for several minutes more, however, lest the sight of his old enemy send him into further hysterics. "I'm sorry, Gonff," he said at length. "I wasn't thinking properly. I should have at least guessed things weren't as they seemed."

After a few minutes more, he turned and ascended the wall stairs once again, holding his sword-hilt tightly as he approached the wall, where Abbess Germaine was still standing quietly, having ignored all attempts at communication from the stoat below. Slowly he advanced until he could look down and see his adversary below him. "Badrang?" His voice was quiet, but all could hear the single word.

"Who'd you think it was?" came the drawled reply, and those near Martin could see his paws tighten on sword-hilt and battlement.

"Leave." The word seemed to echo in the silence.

"Pardon me?" the stoat asked.

"Leave. It means leave. It means turn around and go back to wherever you came from and never let me see your face again. It means, in short, simple language, go away." The warrior's cold voice left no room for doubt as to his feelings toward the creature below. "If you do so, you keep your miserable life."

"And if I choose to stay?"

"Then you will die. You will die by my paw and I swear to you I will not rest until I have the head from your shoulders on a stake!" The warrior's voice increased in volume as he made this proclamation, and if any of Redwall had been unaware of the exchange before, they were all too aware now.

"Please, Martin," Badrang sneered. "This is an abbey. I somehow doubt your new friends would -"

Martin leaned further forward aggressively. "Maybe it is," he snapped, "but let me tell you something. I may be a member of this community - I may have taken the oath to help those in need - but if I saw you starving I would not care. If you came here to beg for food, I would never give it to you. If I saw you standing beside the road begging, I would give you nothing, and I would forbid all others to give you anything. I would watch you starve, and I would be smiling while I did it. My offer for you to leave only stands for so long, and I would hate to be you when it expires. If you aren't walking away within the next fifteen seconds, I will see you so full of arrows you'll look like a hedgehog!"

Suddenly, Badrang laughed. The chilling noise sent a shiver up the spine of everybeast who heard it, though what the stoat found so irrepressibly funny was beyond any listener.

"You have about twelve seconds left," Martin stated flatly. A note of danger had crept into his tone. Lady Amber the squirrelqueen signalled to her archers. She figured she could ask questions later; in the meantime, she trusted Martin. Besides, she doubted her archers would actually have to do any shooting. She could tell Martin meant business, and expected this Badrang character to be gone in short order.

"Martin, son of Luke the Warrior," Badrang said coldly.

"Eight seconds," Martin retorted. Several squirrel archers appeared behind him.

"Maybe we aren't all that different after all." With that crippling verbal blow, Badrang turned and walked away down the road to the south. Martin remained where he was, and for a moment Gonff saw an expression of crazed rage pass across his face, and he feared the warrior would order the archers to fire, but after a second it was gone.

"Badrang!" Martin shouted. The stoat paused and turned back. "My name is Martin the Warrior. And I earned the title from you!"

"And yet I'm still here," Badrang retorted, before continuing his retreat.

"Not for long," Martin murmured almost inaudibly as he pulled back from the wall. He turned around to see practically every member of Redwall watching him. "Make sure the wall gates are locked!" he shouted. "And take a roll call, see if everybeast is inside Redwall. Skipper, Amber, please organise sentries."

He started down the wall steps, calling out orders as he went. Everybeast instantly leapt to obey, despite their doubts. "Goody, please take an inventory of the kitchens, see what kind of food we have in the event of a siege. Bella, move all the Dibbuns inside."

At the bottom of the stairs, Abbess Germaine caught up with him. "Martin," she said, "I'd like to talk to you." Without waiting for a response, she led the way into the gatehouse. Once inside, she sat down on a nearby chair and indicated that Martin should do the same. When the warrior was seated, sword lying across his lap, she began speaking.

"Martin, I can see you know this Badrang from somewhere - know him quite well too. If you've not told us about your previous encounter, which I'm certain was no passing acquaintance, I'll accept you have a good reason and not press you. Some of those things you said were hateful and cruel."

"I meant every word, Abbess," Martin assured her, "and I don't regret any of it."

"I'm sure he deserved all of it, too, Martin. I shan't judge you for what you said. What concerns me is that you seem ready to fight, and indeed kill, this stoat. I merely wish to affirm that you have thought this through."

Martin's paws gently slid across the smooth blade of his sword as he briefly considered his reply. "Abbess, there is nothing for me to think through. As you have guessed, I know this creature quite well. He is altogether evil and will wreak pain and havoc wherever he goes. I was wrong to offer him the option of leaving. Indeed, I should best have shot him where he stood. He must be stopped." The warrior stood, and began pacing back and forth as he continued. "I met him in battle once before, and emerged victorious. I thought he was dead. Evidently I was wrong. This is a mistake I must remedy, else he cause more death and pain than he already has. I am sorry, Abbess."

Abruptly, he stopped pacing. Setting his sword aside, he went down on one knee before the Abbess and took her old weathered paws in his. "And Abbess, I am a warrior. I may have laid my sword aside, but I can never escape my nature. I will always be a defender, and when a threat appears, I have no choice but to eliminate it."

The Abbess sighed. "I understand, Martin. But I also understand that there is more to this than a simple desire to protect. Please make certain you remain aware of your motives and actions."


End file.
